


I'll tell you my sins

by BryttaniDaffodil



Series: Worship Me [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2416172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryttaniDaffodil/pseuds/BryttaniDaffodil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty wants John Watson as his conductor of light. John mostly just wants Chinese food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll tell you my sins

**Author's Note:**

> I am so nervous to post this! I have never written anything in the Sherlock fandom before. Even though I desperately love it, it is just so difficult to write. I don't know if I did these characters any justice at all. I do hope you like my first ever Johniarty! There just needs to be so much more of these two. This could also possibly turn into a series, if anyone likes it at all. Otherwise it will probably stay just a one shot. If you enjoy it please leave kudos and a comment!

John had never had a relationship before where he let himself settle in. He always kept his feelings in a suitcase by the door, convenient for a hasty exit. John knew this wasn't healthy, but after watching his abusive father and drunk sister he felt that it was best for everyone. Openly admitting to this fatal flaw of his didn't take away his very caring nature, though. He had always had a soft spot for broken people and cast away animals. He thinks maybe this particular part of his personality is why he was in this current situation in the first place.

Jim Moriarty was standing in front of him with his hands in his pockets, and his shoulder slumped forward in a mock friendly manner. The curl of his lips and cut of his eyes warped the image into something beautiful and slightly frightening. 

For years, John will never know how he got himself here. He was simply walking home after a brutal twelve hour shift. Sarah had come down with a nasty virus, much like most of the staff and half of London it seemed. So he had been one of three doctors trying to help the never ending flood of sniffles and projectile vomit. The sort of shift that would echo in his nightmares, basically.

Yet, somehow, that shift hadn’t seemed difficult enough to fate or destiny or whatever God that put Jim Moriarty on his path. It was late at night and John could barely keep his eyes open and his feet shuffling forward. He had plans to fall into a Chinese takeout coma, and then hopefully pass out without too much interference from his brilliant roommate. Those plans were looking further and further away.

John sighed deeply, “if you plan on strapping on another bomb on me, can we do it quickly? Or perhaps schedule another night? I'm exhausted and don't have the energy for your mad genius today.”

Jim's eyebrows raised and he bit into his lower lip as his smile widened. It made John's stomach tighten and flush hot. The feeling didn't surprise him, but the lack of shame or embarrassment to go with it did. John had always been addicted to danger, attracted to the dark and the unknown. When that danger was wrapped beautifully in Westwood it was hard to remember why danger was such a bad thing.

“Now Johnny, you know all that is in the past,” Jim's Irish lilt was more pronounced when he wasn't playing in his web, and his hand fluttered as if brushing off the past. His eyes widened in fake innocence and it still made John want to smile in return. Instead he settled for an eye roll, and a sigh of exasperation.

“Great. Amazing. Glad that is all behind us. Now that we got that out of the way I am going to be heading home. You know, that place where my best friend and your arch nemesis lives?” John took a half step to try to get around the thin Irishman, but was again stopped short.

“Johnny boy, you wound me! I came all the way out here to speak to you, not to talk about work.” Jim threw him a wink before continuing, “Sherlock is work and this is very personal.”

John felt goosebumps on his arms at the change in Jim's voice. The whole conversation had been in his bouncy and high voice he had used at the pool. His last sentence was different. It was dark and smoky, like the best whiskey he had ever tasted. John felt his cheeks pink at the thought and hoped the night covered his embarrassment.

“Personal? What could Jim Moriarty have to say to me that was personal? The only reason you even know me is because of 'work.'' John scoffed and held his chin higher so he could make eye contact with the other man.

Jim just watched him with his dark eyes for a few moments. They bounced incessantly from John's eyes, to his mouth, to his ash blonde hair, and back to his blue eyes. After several seconds of silence and scrutiny John became wary and self conscious. He went to duck his head again when soft, but relentless fingers held his chin up.

“None of that, Johnny boy. Can't Daddy just look without you getting bashful on me?” It was said with the smallest smirk, and that mad twinkle in his eyes. John desperately wished he knew what this crazy, stunning man wanted from him. He wished he didn't feel so foolish, or like he was waiting for the laugh track to start.

“Moriarty, please do get to the point. I'm at the end of my rope today, and that is before I even factor you in.” Jim's smirk wavered, softened, before his spine straightened and he took another step closer.

Their chests were inches apart so John had to look up slightly to keep the eye contact, but Jim didn't seem too interested in that. His fingers were curling around John's wrist and he was watching the pulse in John's neck. 

“You aren't even scared of me, pet. If it were anyone else telling me that I was wasting their time I would **blow out their brains** ,” Jim's voice darkened and twisted on the last four words. A shiver worked its way down John's spine and he wished that it was out of fear.

“Daddy doesn't notice _ordinary_ people. I don't care for people or their problems unless they write to me and pay me. Yet here I am with you, Johnny boy. So ordinary on the outside. So very **boring**.” Jim's mouth moved to speak into John's ear, “You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Doctor Watson. I want to see your teeth, I want to see your claws. I got a glimpse, and now I want MORE.”

John could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. It rattled in his ribs and he wanted to press a palm to it to calm it. He wanted to deny that he was a wolf, wanted to say that he was just plain old John. But he knew different and he knew better. He was a warrior and he had felt hatred and blood lust run through his veins before. It had never burnt through his body like the heat from Jim's body did, though. John took a deep breath of the cool air and was proud when it came out steady.

“Moriarty, Jim. I can be everything that you are accusing me of. I can't deny that. But it isn't all I am. I have Sherlock, and we help people. I get up everyday and wipe snotty noses, and I help people. I know that doesn't matter to either of you, nor do you think it is important. I may not be brilliant like you both, but what I do matters.” 

Jim listened and cocked his head slightly. His eyes were lit with a fire that John had never seen before. It was bright and malicious and curious all at the same time. It made the criminal consultant look young and very naughty. John tried not to like it so much.

“Exactly, Johnny boy! You are Sherly's conductor of light and I want to try you out! Why should Sherlock be the only one that gets to play with you? Where were you when Sherlock was strung out on drugs and killing himself? Hmm? Maybe this is my cry for help, Johnny.”

John couldn't help but snort at that. Moriarty needing his help? Even the man in question was smiling like he wanted so badly to laugh. There was a small tug at the back of his mind that wouldn't stop though. A small voice saying that maybe it was true. Saying maybe it wasn't so much a cry for help, for absolution, but for someone to hear him. It sounded like loneliness. It sounded like maybe Jim Moriarty had never had a real friend before. It wouldn't surprise John in the slightest if that were true. As his mind raced to come up with any explanation for the man in front of him, Jim just watched silently. His hands back in his expensive pockets. His expression reminded John so much of Sherlock in that moment. It looked exactly like Sherlock's when he was waiting for John to catch up.

John's mouth wanted to drop when he thought of one possibility. Jim had never had a friend of his own before. Never had someone so loyal that they would risk getting shot or blown up so he could escape safely, without having to pay for it of course. Never had someone to bring him tea or force him to eat simply because they cared and were worried. Jim had never had someone to tag along on all his adventures to try and keep him out trouble. Jim Moriarty never had someone who didn't mind all his edges and never had someone who didn't want to smooth them out. 

Something caught in John's chest and he could see everything so clearly for the first time. He could see what Sherlock would be like if he hadn't had a family to watch out for him. He could see what Sherlock would be like if he didn't have John. He could see it, and it broke his fucking heart.

“I was planning on Chinese and really bad telly tonight. I don't suppose you like either of those?” John held his breath as he waited for his life to change or stay the same. He waited to see if danger was willing to play.

“Oh, Johnny boy. I thought you would never ask.” Jim broke out into his first real grin as he turned to stand next to his wolf.

John and Jim slowly continued walking down the dirty sidewalk. And if their hands happened to brush every few steps, well, John didn't feel the need to stop.


End file.
